


Van Helsing's Experiment

by Annabel_Lioncourt



Category: Hellsing
Genre: F/M, Gen, I just rate everything up to be safe, Slow Burn, also this isn't exactly gory, and i'm probably older than u, bc I'm an old fandom wine aunt, eventual rating rise, guest starring characters by Bram Stoker and they are all now in the public domain so, includes fluff in flashbacks, petition to make dracula a background character in everything ever bc public domain
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-25 23:52:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7552018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annabel_Lioncourt/pseuds/Annabel_Lioncourt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Integra finds the journal her great-grandfather kept of the experiments performed on the Hellsing Organization's greatest weapon and darkest secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

> @ninjagiry is the one who sent me the prompt for this story, as well as the prompt of "Alucard teaches Integra magic" which gets a passing mention in here. This is the first story I'm posting to AO3, so forgive me for saying ye olde disclaimer of "I own nothing,"

             “…And Alucard will handle the situation in Kent; I think that takes care of this evening’s situations.” Integra straightened the stack of paperwork on her desk, and shut off the speakerphone. She tapped the end of her cigar on the astray and leaned back to relax in her wingback chair, for however short a time she had. Seconds later, a familiar silhouette shadow fall across her desk.

            “I assume that Kent is the werewolf case,” he said, taking on his usual solid form.

            “It is.”

            “And why send me, and not a mortal detachment?” Integra sighed, putting out her cigar in the ashes.

            “Because there will be silver bullets flying from the locals and you seem to heal from bullets much faster than a mortal,” she said. Alucard smirked.

            “No one ever found your grandfather’s book on my weaknesses? He kept a very meticulous account.”

            “You have weaknesses other than sunlight?”

            “Silver through the heart or brain, master; therefore I recommend that you send some mortals in armor, if you want me to return. Though, considering your attitude as of late, perhaps that was the plan?” the question didn’t register, Integra was too distracted by the idea that—

            “Silver can kill you? That easily?”

            “Among others,” he shrugged, striding to the east wall of her office and toying with her various artifacts on display. They ranged from the typical newton balls to more outlandish: skulls, large gemstones, and several poppets that gave off the telltale electric sense of magic, even when he handled them through his gloves.

            “Stop. Touching. My. Things. Most of those are—“

            “Yes, yes, irreplaceable, gifts of gratitude from dignitaries, but what about…Ah, yes.” He found a heavy bookend, casted iron of a Greek youth with winged sandals. “The Helsings, thought they were so clever and secretive. Surely no one would think that ‘Alucard’ is a mere mirror…though no one has.” He twisted the statuette’s neck, and following the creaking metal-on-metal sound, there was a heavier thud of gears falling into place as the section of the shelf moved forward from the wall. “And no one would think that ‘Hermes’ would withhold information.” The gears locked into their final position the back panel had lifted, revealing another shelf behind.

           There were a few stacks of aged, fragile parchment, a cobweb covered book, and a small trinket on top of it that glinted under the layers of dust, like jewelry. Tendrils of shadow lifted the book and papers and dropped them on Integra’s desk.

          “Have a good read, I’m sure it’s not any more gory than your last trip to the field.” With two gloved fingers he carefully picked up the charm sitting on the cover and blew the dust off of it. “Tch, silver. Forgot that’s what it was made of. Keep it, master, if you’d like; if not I’m sure the British Museum would pay handsomely for it.” He looked over her confused expression. “You’re awfully quiet,”

         “….Count, what is this?”

        “Merely another part of the Hellsing legacy that you inherited when you shot your uncle in the basement.” He turned to leave as she brushed dust off of the book’s cover.         

        “I’ll tell Walter send some armored mortals to Kent. If you need me for anything…Do not hesitate to summon me, Master.”

         “Right,” she started flipping through the pages, preserved much better than the scrap papers that were in the compartment with it. Alucard shut the door behind him as he walked out, most likely for dramatic effect.

        “ _You’re dismissed!”_

 

_17th January 1897, Siberia_

 

_I made it to the post today. My wife says our son is getting along fine with the governess, and also well with Mr. Harker’s son. Mr. Harker hasn’t written to me since I confessed to him that I kept the body. Mina remains an utter saint, even though I’m sure that he has told her, and she keeps my wife company on my journeys. Mina has written to me as well about her persistence in introducing Lord Godalming to a host of young heiresses. My loyal student, Jonathon, is the only one of our little army who agreed to come here with me, and the only one to whom I have explained the entire truth._

_What I have dragged from the barbaric mountains of Wallachia to this Helheim is not only a body, but the living monster. Jonathan keeps it alive by drops of blood from our own caravan draft horses; it takes so little to resuscitate._

_We have discovered across a series of nights that while iron of his homeland is enough to keep it in chains, it causes no irritation to it whatsoever, and weakens each night at the links. Blessed iron does little better. Silver sears the flesh on contact, something that I had only ever witnessed before with werewolves. It causes pain even as separation and rejoining of the limbs do not, and is more than enough for us to leave it outside and exposed to the treacherous cold. The organs do not seem to heal if the silver is not immediately removed from them, and even then they take hours to fully regenerate._

_These experiments have been our duty for nearly a two weeks now, and while the nights get colder and colder, not even submerging it below the ice is enough to cause any damage that cannot be reversed with a few drops of blood._

_I would like to try total decapitation again. It healed once already from that, but I doubt it will last if the parts are separated for more than a few days. A bowie knife was what did the deed the first time, but I’d like to try a cleaver plated in silver next time._

_John, my dear child, if you are the one reading this—and I pray you are not—know that our curiosity is not out of desire to inflict pain on this demon: hell shall have that privilege in the end. We only want to know so we know how to protect ourselves from them should we ever run into one as powerful as this._

 

         That was the end of the first entry. _The first_. The journal had dated entries through to the end of 1900; how long had the trials gone on for? Did they keep him starved and brutalized for that entire time?

          Beyond revulsion she knew she had to keep on going through it. Alucard would most likely never be willing to speak of this—even if she ordered him, the idea of forcing him to explain how she could kill him if she wished was not something that she wanted to hear directly from the source. He was the Organization’s best weapon, if there was something that he couldn’t do, she couldn’t have him failing with queen and country depending on him.

          Despite the summer warmth and her suit jacket she felt a distinct chill in the room and shivered. _Ah, lovely day, reading about my--…about HELLSING’s vampire’s torture, a werewolf case, and now there is a ghost in my father’s office... I’ll get a witch on that tomorrow morning._ More likely she would handle it herself, just as she had sent the gardener’s benevolent spirit on his way last summer so he would stop scaring the landscapers out of the green house.

_“You know that rosemary is a kinder way to banish ghosts than sage? And I’ve heard that it’s more ethical, if that’s the sort of thing that concerns you,”_

_“Since when do you practice witchcraft, Alucard?”_

_“Its simple, master, and its less like witchcraft and more….more like magic tricks.”_

_“I don’t mind calling it what it is. Teach me.”_

_“As you command._ ”

 

         And that was the monster, that was demon that her great-grandfather tortured. The monster dressed in a black suit with thick glasses to hide his eyes. The monster that drove her to Foyle’s the second the sun went below the horizon and led her to the occult section so she could pick up books to study while he slept. The monster that offered to aid her during the evenings, without command or request, out of what seemed kindness. The same monster who would turn pages by reaching over her shoulder and telling her which books were useful and which were rubbish.

        The one who after her father’s death would effortlessly morph to a small hound and sleep at the foot of her bed effectively protecting her from the night terrors she developed afterwards?

_He obeys my every word out of memory of what they did…they broke him into submission. The seals were not held by sorcery, not by sacrifice._

       It was not affection, it was not earnest loyalty, but a broken will and fear that made him into what he was today. That was the legacy he spoke of, _that_ was the legacy her father told her about on his deathbed.

       Integra didn’t know how long she sat there contemplating this, but it was the evening issues must have been over with, because her desk phone was buzzing with the downstairs phone’s extension on the LCD screen. She turned on the intercom connection.

         “Yes Walter?”

         “Dinner is nearly ready sir.” He sounded tired, almost bored.

         “Give me a few minutes, I’ll be down.” Her own voice sounded strange to her, and perhaps Walter picked up on it, perhaps he was just that good at _knowing_ things.

        “Are you alright, Integra?”

        “I’m fine. I’ll be there.” She hung up and walked out of her office, and up to her room on the other side of the manor to change for dinner.


	2. Part 2

           Unless she was going to be dining with members of the Table, guests, or any of her direct underlings at Hellsing, Integra never dressed for business when she went to dinner. Despite her suits and pressed trousers that she wore even on her days off, she could be seen at dinner in anything from pyjamas to simple dresses, even jeans and t-shirts. There was no place for Burberry suits or McQueen vests at the table with herself, Alucard, and Walter in the small kitchen.

           The long, dark paneled dining room wasn’t used save for formal events and holidays: that was one of the first things that Integra changed about the way the household was run after her father’s death. It was too empty without her father, her uncle, and their close associates.

            Besides, as a child she was used to eating earlier with the cook (whom she buried three years ago now, due to a freak accident involving a golem). She then started to insist on Walter eating with her, and as she and Alucard developed their strange camaraderie, she requested his presence as well. Walter took much longer to warm up to the vampire than she did, but those forced hours shared at a table according to the wishes of their mutual boss, aided in their stalemate.

            Right now, she was absentmindedly going through her wardrobe, trying to find something casual, something that said “everything is normal, my great-grandfather tortured you for nearly four years, but everything is fine.” She settled on a long plaid dress and a grey sweater, leaving her polished boots at the bottom of the wardrobe and walking down to the kitchens.

            It wasn’t fair to the new cook that she never wanted to talk to her, get close to her, but after the last one, she couldn’t bring herself to become friendly with any other member of the staff. The more distance the better. Distance made things easy, it made her look in charge and cold, the “Iron” half of the Round Table’s “Iron Maiden” name for her when she was not around. The only downside to distance was that she found herself getting too attached to the two she couldn’t help but allow into her life. Walter, who had been a member of her family essentially, and Alucard…Alucard, who now may no longer want that attachment: if he ever felt it.

Of course he would still be required to serve, bound by the seals as he was, but would have no desire for whatever bond they had created themselves over years worth of books, of late night drives into the city, of chess games in the parlor, of mutual ache of being all alone in the world.

            She was silent as she entered the kitchen; Walter already at the table, and as usual, still dressed formally. Alucard wasn’t there yet.

            “You’re late tonight,” Walter said, “did you and the vampire’s chess match run longer than normal?” it seemed to be the only pastime that they were on even ground for; she always beat him at cards, and he won every other board game they tried. Yet, despite their connected minds, chess was something that they were able to find even ground on, playing for an hour or more most nights.

            “No, I was in the office. I found some material of my grandfather’s….It may have some serious repercussions for us.” She toyed with the rare steak on her plate, the indent she made with her fork made it ooze red. “You know I’m not all that hungry tonight.” Walter opened his mouth, about to speak, when the vampire materialized through the floor.

            “If hers is as bloody as it smells, I’ll take it.” The plate slid away from Integra towards the empty spot at the table. The vampire leaned back in the chair, boots on the table.

            “Alucard.”

            “Master.” Walter looked between the two, sensing the cold wall between them where before was warmth that did nothing but concern him.

            “Was the Kent werewolf handled?”

            “By better men than I, master. And what about your reading?”

            “Gruesome and vulgar as any day in the field; you were right about that.” There was a pause with so much coldness in it that Walter felt the need to break it.

            “Integra, what is he—“

            “You didn’t tell him, _sir_?” he cut a piece off of her steak, and sucked the blood out of it. “She never knew how her grandsire fettered me a hundred years or so ago; I gave her his books on it.” His casual tone mocked her.

            “I only made it through the first January; he just lists weaknesses, not how to _hold_ you or control you.” She was already up from the table, making to leave.

            “One thing or the other. Starvation usually does the trick. Then again, it only takes a little to come to…You should remember _that_.” He smiled, still conversational, overly friendly, infuriating.

            “Alucard I will not take the blame for what he did!”

            “Of course not, and I wouldn’t ask you too. But you are the heir to this,” _oh but you are an open book, master._ “And Abraham would be _thrilled_ I’m sure, to know that his blood was sitting before his servant-demon, concerned for its feelings.”

            “SHUT UP.” She slammed her fist on the table, uncharacteristically angered. “I order you to return to your crypt for the night. In SILENCE.” He tipped his hat to her and walked out, plate in hand.

            “ _What_ was that all about?”

            “Nothing, Walter. It’s nothing. I’m going to bed, goodnight,” she left the table without waiting for his reply. _Really_ , thought Walter, _I shouldn’t worry;_ she’s under stress, and the connection she has with Alucard must drain her immensely. Her youth and temper were the only reasons, _the only reasons I’m sure_ , that this exchange felt more like a lovers’ quarrel than a debate on possible insubordination.

           

            As strange as it felt to be in the office without her suit and glasses, Integra went back to straighten up her desk, which she had forgotten to do on her way out earlier that evening—or at least that was the excuse she gave herself when she collected the journal, tucking the loose papers into its back cover, and the silver ring that Alucard had dropped beside them.

            Up in her room she lit the heavy bronze reading lamp beside her canopied bed, and examined the ring: silver, as he had stated, it looked like a simple signet ring, lacking any jewels the image on it was a backwards etching of the Tepes crest. She could make out the mirrored script as well: _Voivode Vlad Tepes, Dracula_. Mistranslation, of course, “Son of the Devil,” it meant “Son of the Dragon,” in reference to the order of knights his father belonged to. One of the most feared names in all of history was merely a diminutive. In the mirrored text though, the name looked more like Alucard.

           Absent mindedly, as she contemplated the brown journal sitting on the bed before her weighing on her mind like John Fuseli’s nightmare would on the heart, she placed it on each finger and slid it off, far too big on any of her own. She set it aside, and opened the book again

 

_July 9 th 1899, just west of the lights of Cairo._

            _It was Jack who suggested that the beast might be vulnerable to extreme heat, and we had the coffin moved from the crypt below the manor to Cairo by train. He has not dealt with the grief of Miss Westenra well; Arthur has long moved on with his life, and will marry in a month. I’ve yet to convince Jack to return with me for the wedding._

_Jack still blames the woman’s death—rightfully so—on the demon. He and I were the ones to put her out of her final misery in the crypt that night, and his growing fixation on how it was Dracula who murdered her… it makes me wonder if his intentions are more on revenge than they are scientific query._

_…. Burying the body in sand has no effects that burying in snow, ice, or native soil do not have, though in the native soil he seems to rejuvenate faster. Sunlight leads to ignition after a few minutes, though we wish to experiment more before leaving it out at full noon in the desert sun._

_Flammability of its flesh is what we work on during our nights now, and we have tried three nights in a row to burn its body, as I will outline here: once with accelerants, once dry, and once —_

 

         Integra covered her mouth with her hand, and swallowed hard against the rising feeling of sickness. Unable for the moment to read on in the journal itself, she took out the loose leaves and paged through them. _Hellsing_ , not _Van Helsing_ was the signed name, she looked for other names or dates, surely the _condition_ of the paper signaled it to be older or at least as old as the journal. _Richard Hellsing_. Her heart stopped at the name she hadn’t seen or heard in nearly ten years, and wished to never see again. _This was his doing…they opened the crypt to keep up their experiments_. _That foul-that_ evil _man did—_ Arthur Hellsing. _No, no he couldn’t have done…_

 

            _Arthur Hellsing, the golden son maintains the idea that we should not repeat past ‘intrusions,’ he always did feel pity for monsters. I however think that reminding It who owns It is a better approach. Arthur did however consent to my suggestion of severing the heart arteries—along with seeing if It has any blood of Its own, this will answer to question of whether or not It can live without a heart._

_There is only a rare beat of it, as if It can control its own heart. Arthur was never a squeamish man but upon lifting the dry organ from It’s chest cavity he nearly fainted._

 

            Integra wanted to vomit. The visual of a dried out yet still living heart was disgusting enough…the thought of it being done out of little more than desire to inflict injury to someone she saw every day, _by the man I hate more than the rest of the world, and by the one whom I loved more than the world_ shook her mind violently, she curled up on her side, pushing the papers and book away.

 

            _“Do you have a heartbeat?” she lifted the rook and took his knight in an easy trap._

_“On occasion I do, but not always,” he captured her knight on the opposite side._

_“Is it the same as a human’s?” the move was sacrificial, she now had his king cornered by her queen_

_“You mean don’t know?” looking back, there were so many moments he alluded to the knowledge that her father had about him, “Here,” he reached across the coffee table and chess board for her hand, and held it on his chest_. _One, two, three calm, relaxed beats and she withdrew._

_“And you can control it?”_

_“Sometimes it has a mind of its own. I’m not entirely sure how it works_. _I assume that when I have blood in me it does what it can, and it does usually feel human.”_

 

            The same heart she held under her hand, the heart that let her win at chess was the same one her father cut out and replaced haphazardly for no reason other than to fulfill a legacy of sadism.


	3. Part 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: On the last Sunday of March, the UK goes forward an hour (British Summer Time/BST instead of GMT), similar to the USA’s Day Light Savings Time. Also, because of the time lines that we are given, I think that Abraham was Integra’s great-grandfather. We have his story, as well as Arthur’s name, but there’s never a name given to the Hellsing between the two, whom I’m going to write a separate fic on, but I’ve named him John, after both Harker and Seward.  
> Also yes, this is somewhat short in comparison to the others, but that was becuase it was running on for a while and I wanted to divide it into two.

****It was well into the morning when she finally woke up, which was late for her.  Despite the late hours that she usually kept, Integra never slept past eight. Light was streaming through the curtains and she quickly gathered the delicate papers and placed them on the long bookcase in her room, her private collection, where they would be safe from the sun. _Get dressed, go to breakfast, today’s agenda…what was today’s agenda?_ _Sunday_!

         And it was the last Sunday of the month, when the entire Round Table would convene at St. Paul’s in the City for the service, and then, for reasons she never understood, go half way across London to Buckingham for a meeting. _ I do not have the patience to deal with those idiots today… _

         Duty calls, however, and despite missing the service, she dressed and called for the car to take her to the Table. Arthur Hellsing had never missed as single meeting, not even on the day that his beloved wife died, and that was a part of the legacy that Integra was eager to continue.

        The service door of the manor was closer to her rooms than the grand front entrance was, and when taking a low-key car instead of the formal stretch Rolls Royce, it was far easier. Best not to be seen this late and this mentally disheveled by any of the staff.

        Upon arrival at the palace she was greeted by a flood of tweed and long-outdated hats—the ancient men of the Table looking like ghosts walking behind the slightly younger and more modernly adorned Sir Penwood. None of them looked too happy.

        “What’s going on here?” she approached them and addressed them as if they were one large, misshapen mass of misogyny than individual people. If they acted as such, she would treat them as such.

         “Dame Integra, you’ve missed entire day.” Sir Irons smiled down at her from the upper steps, and she immediately walked up to look him in the eye.  _ Call me Dame one more time. _

         “Its barely noon, what are you—“

         “It’s March 30th, “

         “What are you—“  _ damn, damn, damn _ “Its….”

         “Nearly one ‘o’clock PM. What  _ would _ your father think…protector of the people of God and the Church of England…oversleeping for Summer Time like a child late for school.” Irons was more pleased than he had been in a long time, taking small pleasures at even the vaguest social mistakes she made, smirks at every single ‘err…’ she uttered or time she was confused, no matter how rare and short lived those moments were.

_          “You know,” Alucard said, setting a tray of two mugs of tea, one slightly more red than black in the firelight, on the table before her, “I could eat him for you,” _

_          “Irons? Despite his name, his medical file said he’s anemic. I don’t think he would taste all that great.” _

_           “Then consider it a favor, master.” _

_           “Not necessary,” _

_           “He insults the Organization, your family, and most heinously: you. Killing him would be to protect your honor, as men used to duel over libel.” _

_           “Alucard, no.” _

          “Sir Irons, that’s enough,” Pennwood ushered him away towards his own waiting Aston, glancing back with an apologetic frown to Integra. “Sir Hellsing—“

          “I don’t need protection, Sir Pennwood.” She grit her teeth, wishing that she could land her fist on old Iron’s jaw without fearing killing him.

        “It was an honest and easy mistake, we’ve all done it—the bloody mess they made out of it in the 60’s and 70’s? Irons himself once lost a whole day’s worth of time!” Pennwood had become one of the few that did appreciate her abilities on occasion, and he had no love lost for Irons either.

          “Thank you. Really….I would be indebted to you if you could stop by the manor at your earliest convenience and update me with any new information.”     

          “A casual Sunday meeting of these curmudgeons? There was very little of anything ‘new.’”

          “Regardless,” she walked back down the front steps to her own car, “I would appreciate it. Good day, Sir Penwood.” He intervened, opening the door for her, and she nodded in acknowledgement of the action, and didn’t look on or speak again.

          Walter had tea waiting at her return, but she overlooked it, walking right for the kitchens and for the spice cabinet, throwing fistfuls of lavender and chamomile in the water kettle on the stove.  _ Calm down, this has been a relatively sane week. Its just that journal….and uncle Richard’s papers. That’s all this is _ .

          “Sir, are you aright?”

          “I’m fine, Walter.” She poured the brew into a cup without sugar, stuck a stick of cinnamon in it and started to drink it, near to boiling.

          “Well if you’re not careful you’re going to burn your tongue off,” she didn’t seem to notice or care, “If this is about that book you found—“

          “I didn’t  _ find _ it. My father must have kept it hidden. Alucard showed me where it was. He wanted me to read it.”

          “As a responsible servant—and I do hate to give him that credit—he wanted you to be aware of what he cannot accomplish. To lose a weapon like him…that would bring the organization to its knees.” Integra looked up at him.

          “My great-grandfather spent a month in Siberia dismembering Alucard with a silver plated cleaver. Dr. Seward then thought it would be an idea to expose him to the sun in Cairo, and try to burn him.” Walter’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t the worst thing he had ever heard, but it was brutal for Integra to hear, even compared to what she had witnessed. He poured himself a cup of the fragrant potion she had thrown together, long past questioning her knowledge of herbs and flowers.

          “Integra…I have watched you and that—“

          “ _ Him _ . He’s not an ‘it’ or a thing, he’s a loyal member of this organization who would give his life for it if I asked him.”

          “—I’ve watched you and  _ him _ . Over the past years something has…”  _ of course she could feel attraction to him, he’s the only man near to her age in appearance she’s ever around who isn’t Catholic or trying to kill her. _

          “Alucard is my servant, the same as you.” Her voice was even and calm. “And I respect, and admire the loyalty and sacrifice that you both offer.”

          “What I’m saying is…You have to understand that even if you have grown to trust him, and despite the mutual respect that you seem to have, he’s still…he’s still nosferatu, he’s still a monster with nothing more stopping him from killing us all besides—“ Integra looked up, her whole body convulsed, and her voice was hollow:

          “ _ Eating my wings is what made me tame _ .”

          “—Listen to me! He’s tied to your family; he’s tied to this organization  _ because of the things you found in that infernal book _ . Stop moping around and—“

          “— _ What did they do to him to tie him to us? _ ”

          “I don’t know, Integra, he tasted your blood in the crypts that day—that’s all the explanation for the telepathy, the connection, you don’t—I’ll read the damn book and present you with a list of his weaknesses. OR better yet, as you so value and trust him,  _ ask him instead!” _

_           “I can’t do that!  _ It…it would be insulting to him somehow...” She was staring into her cup, obviously lost. Walter sighed.

          “….go on and finish that thing and get on with your life as usual.” Integra drained the last of her tea and made to leave. “And Sir? …Just because you know about the things that were done to him does not make you responsible for them.”

          “…I know.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> apologies, by the way for any inconsistencies in formatting, I'm writing this in a Word Doc, and FOR SOME REASON the copy/paste isn't working and I'm pasting it to a Google doc, reformatting it, pasting it here, and touching it up to make it look right.


	4. Part 4

_ Hellsing Manor, December, 1900 _

_I buried it last year. A few decades of starvation may finish the creature, and if not then John will. I’m entrusting this to him. For now, however, it seems complacent, and for you, John, I will tell you what we’ve done. Please do not think less of me, or of Dr. Seward—for he has done no more wrong in continuing one with us than Mr. Harker has for abandoning this world to protect his own fragile sanity._

_Jack’s married now,  of course, and I doubt that his wife would appreciate me putting to paper his gruesome mind’s idea._

_We discovered, in Siberia, that permanent dismemberment is only possible with the use of silver blades, but even then regeneration can occur over night._

_In Cairo, Immolation is possible with certain aids, but we had filled the veins of the monster with so many alchemic formulas that before the body could be fully rendered as ash, there would be flames of blue, of bright white like a magnesium fire would rise, and in true demonic form like a monstrous bat it would arise, a perversion of the phoenix._

_No matter where we tried to kill it with local magics, all attempts failed as we hauled the corpse across the world, seeking out my old friends and mentors until I was no longer well enough to travel._

_Jack realized that the only way we could hope to restrain it was to make it subordinate to us. I accused him of playing the devil; this monster was an insult to God and man and existed only from the blood of a demonic line began by Lucifer himself._

_“Dr. Van Helsing—we have tried everything, we’ve exhausted the globe, and until new discoveries are made we have to live with the fact that those experiments we’ve done….Bram, we’ve MADE that monster what he is.”_

_“You’ve lost your mind, Jack. You know that there is such thing as the finite, and to have power beyond what these demons already have would be…”_

_“What? Inhuman? Mythic? Perhaps even_ divine _, and the Lord has sent them out to rid this world of its modern sins.”_

_“You were never religious before.”_

_“Neither were you when I first came to you as a student of science, but of course all this time, ‘more things in heaven and in the earth,’ and all that right?” there was a smile on his face that more closely resembled that of one of his mad-men than his own._

_Jack’s idea was that if we could not mutilate the beast to any permanent damage, perhaps we could command it do so itself,_

Integra paused. It was well after midnight, and she had spent the entire afternoon buried in Richard Hellsing’s sloppy collection of loose notes, ordering them chronologically and copying out a list of Alucard’s supposed weaknesses before tackling the rest of the journal. Now she was on this final entry torn between going forward and finally being through with it, or saving it until the following day. Looking away from the papers long enough to make out the clock’s face in the near-darkness of her room was enough to tire her eyes, and she opted for the latter.

Putting the papers in general order she sat them on her beside table, accidently knocking the silver signet ring to the floor. _I can’t lose this_ …As to _what_ exactly she would do with it she didn’t know. Given the nature of it as well as how she was presented with it, she didn’t think it was right to leave it sit on one of the shelves in her office. Selling it to a museum was out of the question. She very well couldn’t walk around actually wearing it either. She mused over this, toying with the ring again. She fell asleep with her hand curled around it still, her glasses still on.

She slept rather restlessly, the strange sleep that haunted both the victim and the guilty. The shadow on her wall tilted its head, debating on whether or not she would sound asleep enough to approach. The sporadic shaking, the most obvious external sign of her nightmare to the mortal eye, coupled with the smell of fear—rusted iron, ice, and lightning—betrayed that she was deep in whatever fictional hell her mind saw to drop her in. He floated closer to her, shadow still, and willed the duvet up around her shoulders. A tendril of black smoke touched her forehead; she was cold.

_What am I doing?_ The thought hit him more than once over the years, playing nanny to Abraham’s great-granddaughter. The last living Hellsing. No where in the world were there any family branches left, long eradicated in vengeance by vampires and familiars that the professor had seen to before him.

He was in her adjoining bathroom; filling a bottle with water as hot as it could get from the tap to set in bed by her, warm her a little. The thought crossed his mind that any other monster would have ended her life there in the basement, but he wasn’t sure. Starved or not, the seals in place, Van Helsing’s strange chemical experiments, and years of torture and servitude saw to it that he didn’t kill her. Richard Hellsing blood was enough at the time, but Integra’s? That sweet wine that woke him from the decades long imprisonment? He could hear it pulsing in her now, so close.

Nightmares were something he was long familiar with, and the memories of five hundred years of them made his hunger ebb enough to reach down to her, remove her glasses, gently, and set them aside. Her one hand was curled into a gentle fist beside her face, holding something. Carefully he tried to open her fingers but they tightened around whatever she was holding. Possibly something as simple as a pocket watch…or… He waited until she relaxed, and tried again, this time removing an object that burned his bare hands with white hot intensity.

_“Damn it_ ,” he caught himself, being sure that she was still asleep. It was mere seconds before his hand healed, and summoning back on gloves he picked the object up off of the floor and looked at it.

Five hundred years old and still untarnished; it was unlikely. She must have polished it at some point. Oddly sentimental for her to keep it; the signet ring that he wore in life. It brought back a handful of good memories, and hoards of not so good memories. He slipped the ring over the middle finger of her left hand, and rested his own on her shoulder, kneeling close to the bed. Integra had not been handling the truth of her family history very well, and sometime in the future he would explain what he and John had gone through in the World Wars, what he saw in Warsaw, why he couldn’t trust Walter. All things in time. Her brow creased in her sleep with stress, dreams, still; the expression made her resemble her grandfather all the more and he cringed. She was beautiful, with her rare combination of starlight hair and dark coloring, but those expressions of consternation, the coldness in her eyes when she was spoken down to—those were Hellsing through and through. 

 


	5. Chapter 5

           Integra was standing in the kitchen, wrapping thread around the back of the signet ring to allow for a tighter fit. It was an interesting piece, and to have silver on her person at all times could certainly help; her cross was white-gold, a gift from her father, but useless against a supernatural attack. Never mind that this was Hellsing and rather than back handing an offending creature with a silver ring, she could just as easily reach for a gun full of blessed silver bullets.

She had finished the journal in the early hours of morning, and while it was as horrifying and hateful as she dreaded it would be, it was over. She compiled the list of Alucard’s possible and known weaknesses and put them in his ever-growing file in her office. It was time to listen to Walter, to not allow this knowledge to impend on her daily life, or on her ability to handle her servant. She was even very slowly coming to terms with the reality of their final act.

The ring now had a small bundle of thread tied to the back of band, allowing it to fit tighter, she slipped it back onto her left middle finger, and shook her hand gently to be sure it wouldn’t come lose.

“You seem…eerily chipper today, sir.”

“I’m just glad to be back and ready to keep this place in order. There was a message this morning about a possible ghoul sighting up by the Scottish boarder—“

“So another day in Yorkshire?” there was very little supernatural or otherwise that seemed to rise an interest out of the butler, but Integra took it as result of an entire life spent serving the Hellsing Organization. She had the same minimal reactions already.

“More or less. I’ll have Alucard go alone, maybe with a couple chaperones, but it doesn’t seem reason enough to let loose the entire Calvary.” Walter teetered around the edge of asking, and then took a long pause to figure out how to ask it.

“I take it that you and the vampire are…. on working terms again?”

“Alucard is my servant, regardless of his attitude or mine towards that relationship, he is still under seals to follow my orders.”  There it was again, that professional voice she used around the soldiers, the officers, the Round Table, the queen. He could hear through it though: it was a façade voice of a young person thrust far too early into a world that required coldness and detachment.

“Integra, if you aren’t going to speak to me, I wish you’d speak with someone.”

“I have no need for that tripe.”

“I’m not saying you should see a _therapist_ , I’m saying that you need to have someone to confide in. The queen used to see you every Sunday after meetings of the Twelve for tea, why don’t you leave a message in her offices, see if she—“

“I WILL NOT trouble the SOVEREIGN of this country with cries of childish nightmares and worries. I am the lord of his manor and the head of Hellsing and I can take care of MYSELF.” Walter stepped back.

“Of that I have no doubt; you are a well seasoned leader, even at your age, but your age is not yet twenty.”

“Very well, I’ll start switching out the black tea for chamomile before bed, and all will be fine,” she sounded less convinced of her words than Walter did.

“I’ll leave you to your duties then, sir.”

The ghoul sighting was the only issue of the day that directly required her attention, and being the wilds of northern Yorkshire, it was likely that the ghoul was nothing more than a poacher or a lost hiker, possibly a drunk tourist. She quietly laughed to herself over the memory of a call about a vampire attack in Soho the previous year, which turned out to only be a couple overzealous and inebriated cosplayers, on their way Forbidden Planet for a new horror comic release.

“Idiots…” she mumbled

“I heard you mention your associates, master” _oh my God not now._

“I thought you were supposed to be handling a ghoul.”

“Its daylight….prolonged outdoor exposure to sunlight, well, I didn’t think that Van Helsing’s writing was so dry that you’d forget that detail already.”

“Alucard, it is YORKSHIRE. The cloud coverage is going to be more than enough for you in your ridiculous garb to be able to sniff out a sleeping ghoul in the woods.” She stood up behind her desk; even though he was still much taller than her, she wanted every inch on him that she could get. “SIT.”

With a smirk, a chair appeared before her desk and he leaned back in it, boots on the table.

“OFF. MY. DESK.” He did as he was told but the smile only grew wider and he learned towards her.

“I didn’t realize that all I ever needed to do to get a rise from you was commit subtle acts of rebellion. I’ll have to try it more often.”

“YOU…” she took a deep breath, knowing this was exactly what he wanted from her. “You act like this again, and it’s the crypt for a week without blood—human or otherwise. There’s not call for such…. _smartassery_.”

“Humblest apologies, _dragă meu_.” The sarcasm simply  _bled_ from the words

”You will speak to me in _the queen’s English or not at all_. Now, off to the ghoul case. On your way soldier.” she pointed to the door.

”Of course, dear.” And with that he evaporated from the room, sinking through as black smoke through the floor, presumably on his way to brain a ghoul. 

“Aggravating bastard….”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know its a shorter one, but there's a couple long chapters on the horizon, and it will probably be over by chapter 12.


	6. Chapter 6

        _“The attacker was wearing a long red overcoat, a broad-rimmed red hat, and thick glasses, if anyone has any information, please contact the—“_

Integra turned off the television and turned towards the offending officer. She didn’t even allow him back into the den where the proper tv was; she had a small one from the meeting hall brought up to her office.

“Explain. _NOW._ ”

“What is there left to tell you? You send me on the cold trail of a ghoul, I find some weirdo in a cave, some kind of Sawney Bean character, and try to kill him. He lived. He’s probably traumatized, but he shouldn’t have been sleeping in a—“

“Alucard what if the man was homeless? What if that was a camper?”

“The guy robbed three Tescos, while I wouldn’t say I aided in the apprehension of a dangerous criminal, he was a criminal nonethe—“

“ _YOU BIT OFF HIS HAND_.”

“It was his left hand,” he didn’t seem to be bothered by any of this.

“IF YOU CAN’T CONTROL YOURSELF IN PUBLIC I WILL LISTEN TO THE TWELVE AND TO THE QUEEN AND THROW YOUR SARCASTIC CARCASS IN THE BASEMENT WHERE IT DAMN WELL BELONGS.”

“…Liz told you that too? The old damn wounds me.” Integra was fuming, unable to fully form a proper punishment or reprimand.  “Master, this isn’t the first time I, as those idiots you sent after me said, ‘fucked up’ a mission. Normally I’m met with criticism of much less… _hostile_ variety.” 

“ _YOU COULD HAVE KILLED SOMEONE!”_ the past several years of anger that she never fully unleashed on him had bottled up, the disgust she felt over the journals, the horror, the fact that she felt guilt for what her family had done, justly, rightly to this _creature_ \---she let it all out on him.

_“LAST TIME…_ The last time I checked, that was my _job.”_ He loomed over her, forcing her to look up. “Unless of course, you no longer have that Hellsing taste for blood anymore. Such a shame to end that... _legacy._ ”

“You…you…”

“What did you think of that, he never outlines those unholy seals he tied me with. Seward’s idea, but the Harker’s were the ones that actually insisted upon it. Mina—sweet woman, delicious—told your grandfather that the only way to keep me in the country was the process; I’ll spare you, you seem a bit young for the full details just yet. Ah, but you did read about how the first step was commanding me to devour the wings of my own familiar? Did you think they were only pretty words for the coffin, _dragă_?” there it was again, the heavy stench of sarcasm on that final word. She spoke emotionless, toneless, and nearly voiceless:

“They did what they had to, you—“

“Monster? Devil? Go on, _master_ , tell me, how does it feel to inherit such a legacy that you are incapable of—“ she raised her hand back to slap him _hard_ , judging by the muscle in it. He caught her arm at the wrist and held it with no effort, even with her full force behind it. “There it is, Integra, that hateful fire in your great-grandfather’s eyes.” She wrested her hand out of his grip, which, common sense told her in the back of her mind, he must have let her do, for there was no way that she could have done such on her own.

When she pulled away the silver of the ring hit against his wrist where his glove ended and his coat sleeve began, and he felt the unmistakable burn of silver. Integra, nearly a week after being given it, was still wearing the signet ring. She leaned back and picked up a cigar without looking at what she was doing, lit it, and bringing it to her lips she let out her reply in a dry whisper.

“I want you out of my sight. That’s an order.”

“As you wish, Sir Hellsing.”

The next day, she dealt with a violent haunting with possible satanic ties herself: no Alucard, no other help. She had Walter drive her to the house in Southwark, with a Bible, and a blessed artifact, and a few dozen memorized prayers and spells to send the specter on its way.

On the fourth day there was a call about several warlocks trying to summon a demon. Arrests were made, interrogated, and the only thing that kept them from being immediately detained was the DNA testing on the blood they used to draw their circle.

“This is what happens when people think that its edgy to recreate scenes from horror films and bad Lovecraft imitators.”

“Indeed, Sir.” Walter brought tea to her office at the same time each day, and the world continued on in order. “Though…and I do hate to say this, but you shouldn’t be—“

“Going on these missions alone? I brought four soldiers with me today.”

“You know what I was going to say. Where is the crimson creeper anyway?”

“I ordered him out of my sight,” she put out her cigar, gently pushed a stack of paperwork aside and reached for the teacup and saucer. “And he has miraculously obeyed,”

“Well then...What about the journals—“

“I don’t want to talk about them. I’ve learned his weaknesses and I see no reason why they must be maintained. I put them back where he found them, and they can stay there,” she said.

“Integra, you know they were doing what they had to,”

“I know that.”

“You don’t sound like it.” Walter sounded so much less professional, “I heard the tirade that you gave him, and he deserved it—I’m glad you gave it to him, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy finally seeing you treat him as he should be but…I think that it took its toll on you.” Integra took a long time before giving her reply.

“Do I remind you of them, Walter? You always tell me that I’ve filled the shoes of the previous Lord Hellsings so well, but…Do I seem the same as they did?”

“You are strong, intelligent; wise beyond your years in many cases, but you aren’t your father, as much as he would be proud of you. And you certainly aren’t the Abraham of the stories. You share a lot of traits with John, though I only knew him personally for a short time.”

“They were good men, all of them. I’m proud to take their place here.” She almost didn’t, but then changed her mind and added sugar to the tea, stirring thoughtfully.

“They were all well into their forties when they took control of the organization. You were twelve.”

“Even the queen has commended my efforts,” she was walking around it, and they both knew it.

“She has left several messages for you, wanting you to join her for dinner next month. Talk to her if you won’t talk to me.”

“You have no idea how irritating it is to have all of those around you trying to find excuses to be your parent.”

“You’re right, I have no idea what its like to have adults in your life who care about your well being, while adult orders are being piled onto you.” Integra looked down into her tea.

“I’m sorry.” He nodded in acceptance.

“And I’m even more sorry for what I’m about to say,”

“What is it,” her voice and eyes had matching levels of worry, _he’s not leaving, he can’t leave, I have no one el—_

“Talk to Alucard.”

“LIKE HELL.”

“Integra you’re barely eating, not sleeping, and goddamit you’re taking missions that are practically suicide for an untrained operative—you’re not Elizabeth I facing off with the depleted Spanish Armanda, you are a nineteen year old with too many people depending on you for your age, squaring off with monsters that would make the saints recoil.”  He waited for it to sink in, more afraid that he’d make her cry; always afraid he’d make her cry when he called her out on her behavior, though he hadn’t seen her cry since the day her father died. She blinked a few times, but no tears fell.

“…Alright. Not today though.”

“I apologize, Miss Hellsing, I do; but I am…worried about you.” For half a moment he thought to set his hand on her shoulder, some semblance of fatherly affection, but he stopped, picked up the tea tray and left for the door.

“Walter, wait.”

“Yes?”

“Thank you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to the mid-length chapters again; and I think I'll be able to finish this within a total of 10 chapters, and then I will finally be free. 
> 
> I lied, I will never be free from this.


End file.
